


But it's Better if You Do

by Jack_The_Grump



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940's, Based On A Panic! At The Disco Song, Burlesque AU, Lingerie, M/M, Period Typical Homophobia, femminization, panic! at the disco au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:14:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6443962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jack_The_Grump/pseuds/Jack_The_Grump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a Stucky AU based on the music video for Panic! at the disco"s song "But it's Better if You Do"</p>
            </blockquote>





	But it's Better if You Do

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little idea I had that i couldnt get out of my head! so my buddy Josh at (http://pantasticpolygoat.tumblr.com/) offered to write it with me!  
> if you havent seen the music video *spoliers* here's the link (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBtH2YlNiNc)

Brooklyn Heights wasn’t the ritziest spot in the city, but it was home. The East River cooling the air when the days got hot definitely helped with the electricity bill. It had its fair share of churches to choose from too, though, not many of them were keen on taking certain locals with an acquired lifestyle into their holy temples.

  
Which begged the question: Did he really want to waltz right into the church for a quick confession BEFORE committing his sin, or after?

  
Bucky was in a terrible bind trying to decide on it. He was sure if any of the nuns saw him now, they’d all run inside from how bad his scowl looked.

  
After, he decided, stepping away and back onto his route to good ol’ 569 Leaman Place.

  
It was home now, after all. And he had someone waiting for him there.

  
No dame, though that’s what half the fellas at the dock would expect.  
But a fella.

  
Stubborn punk named Steve Fucking Rogers.

  
Bucky sighed as he thought of his roommate. Keeping his thoughts innocent was getting harder now the longer they lived together. When did he start feeling this way anyway? Why did he start feeling this way?

  
It just wasn’t fair. Or natural.

  
James Buchanan Barnes. A fucking fruit.

  
His mother would cry, he was sure.

  
His sisters…wouldn’t understand.

  
And Steve….  
God forgive him, Bucky couldn’t even begin to wonder what Steve would think. It would hurt too much.  
That’s why he needs to do this.

  
He’s going to go home, take a shower, look less like a ragamuffin and march off to a good fucking time if it’s the last thing he did.  
He needed to get these urges under control damn it.

  
He needed to find himself a fella to distract him from the one he shared a room with.

  
Another sigh left Bucky as he reached their apartment. Once inside, he bee-lined for the kitchen where he knew there’d be food waiting for him.  
Because that’s what Steve did. Since Bucky won’t let him work, he does the rest of the things in the apartment while he’s gone.

  
“Welcome back, Buck! How was work?”  
A warm smile that could not be contained spread across his face as he plopped down.

  
“It was all the bees knees, punk. How was your day?”  
Steve looked like he’d just woken from a nap, hair rumpled and a slightly dazed look in his eyes as he smiled sweetly at Bucky.  
Fuck, he was gone on the skinny shit.  
“It was great until I ran out of things to do.”  
Whelp.  
There went the good mood.  
Bucky frowned as he spoke. “Steve, you know why y-” but he was cut off, Steve’s expression hardening into something stubborn and a little irritated.  
“I know why you think I shouldn’t work, but it ain’t right, Buck! I gotta pull my own weight around here somehow!”  
“You do pull your own weight!”  
“I’m not some dame, jerk! I’m talking about bills! You can’t be working such long hours! You’re gonna end up as sick as me” shouted Steve, arms going up as if to make his point.  
“I can work the paper! It’s mostly sitting and-“  
“It’s out of the question is what it is.”

  
They glared at each other, willing the other to back down already. This was a long-winded fight since the day they got the shoddy one bedroom. Bucky would use Steve’s illness as an excuse for him not to work and Steve would argue that Bucky was a stubborn mule who was going to work himself to death.  
“You haven’t even been able to tomcat around you’ve been working so much” Steve snapped, crossing his arms as if daring him to retort.  
Oh but did Bucky have a retort.

  
“I ain’t tomcattin’ because I ain’t in the mood for no dames, punk! And you ain’t workin’ ‘cause your asthma paired off with this coming winter chill equals you’re fuckin’ stuck here anyhow!”  
Steve looked slightly taken aback, and Bucky felt a pang of guilt at the words.

  
“Steve, you gotta understand, you can’t do a lot in your condition.”

  
The man in question was all skin and bones. Beautiful skin and bones, but skin and bones nonetheless. If it wasn’t his asthma, it was the scoliosis. If it wasn’t the scoliosis, it was the heart murmur.

  
The list literally went on, and frankly, Bucky wasn’t willing to risk it.

  
“I got work tonight. Let’s have us some dinner, get some medicine in ya, and then off to bed with you, okay?”  
Steve’s glare only got meaner.  
“I’m not a damn child, jerk.”  
Cracking a grin, Bucky got up and yanked his friend into a hug, tousling his hair because yeah, he was a jerk.

  
“Pssh, ‘course not, punk. Children don’t complain about not workin’ all day like the rest a’ us” he teased, pulling back just in time to avoid a punch.  
“If I wanted you to be my ma’, I’d dig her up my damn self” Steve huffed, arms crossing over his chest.  
They had this argument often. Not so much at the beginning of this cohabiting, but the longer the days stretched, the more insane with cabin fever Steve was getting. He didn’t want to be the dead weight. He wanted to help with his own two hands in more than just house work. It wasn’t lost on him that he was sickly. He wasn’t a fool. Half deaf asthmatic with scoliosis applying for work on the docks? He’d fucking die in a heartbeat.  
Or lack thereof.  
And Bucky knew that. He knew that, but he also knew that there was work even Steve could do without too much fuss and muss. And yeah, the extra money would really fucking help.

  
But he didn’t want to risk losing his best friend.

  
A world without Steve Rogers…  
It was unthinkable.  
“Listen, punk” Bucky sighed, causing Steve to perk up just a bit.  
Sighing is a good thing.  
Sighing means he’s winning.  
“It’s not that I don’t think you can do anything. I know you’re not just some brodie and I ain’t lookin’ to mother you; I just worry like her. You’re not ALL I got in the world, but you’re the one special thing I got in it, and I’d like to hang on to you as long as I can. If it gets to a point I can’t go it alone, I swear, on your ma’s apple pie, that I will help you go find some work to help out around here. Deal?”  
It was the closest to a confession he’d ever get.  
But damn it, if it’s how he’s going to get Steve to half-understand, he’ll risk it.  
The blonde in question stood in silence for an uncomfortable long time before finally sighing in defeat.  
“Deal.”  
Releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, Bucky grinned down at Steve and said “Good. Now let’s eat!”  
-

 

  
Closing the door softly behind him, Bucky quietly made his way down the stairs and knocked on the door at the end.  
The door eased open to reveal a scruffy looking fellow, looking him up and down before opening the door more to let him in.

  
“Your boy’s asleep?”  
“He ain’t mine, Lou.”  
“Yeah, and I ain’t a fuckin’ pachuco. When ya gonna tell ‘im yer cheatin’, eh?”  
Bucky groaned from behind the bathroom door, tugging off his work clothes and slipping on his nice slacks and pressed shirt.  
“For fucks sake man, I ain’t cheatin’ on him because we’re not together. Why do you care anyway? If I really was cheating, you woulda told him by now.”  
Walking out, Bucky glared at the leer shot his way by his neighbor.

  
“But then I’d miss the drama.”  
“You’re gonna find yourself in a Chicago overcoat one day, and all anyone’s gonna know about you is what a crumb you are” he snapped, marching out the door with a mask tucked into his pocket.

  
He can do this.

  
He’s Bucky Barnes.

  
Ladies Man Extraordinaire.

  
Fellas can’t be that different from dames.

  
Well, except the parts.

  
And the voices.

  
And the mannerisms.

  
Shit, no, he can’t chicken out now. He’s already halfway there, and if he goes home at this hour, Steve is gonna think he got fired.  
He’s not even working.

  
How the fuck is he going to explain working all these extra hours with no extra cash coming in?  
Fuck.

  
Fuck he fucked up.

  
Fuck, he’s already at the door though.

  
Swallowing the panic and bile rising in him, Bucky tied on his gold mask, paid the suit, and walked in like he was on a mission.  
He’d make a pretty decent soldier with how he’s marching.

  
No, that’s beside the point. He’s got to focus.

  
Bucky softened his look, loosening up just a bit as he made his way to the bar.  
Everyone was wearing a mask of varying coverage, per requirement.

  
Wasn’t easy being a fruit in this world. So joints like this were few and far between, especially when coppers flash their buzzers left and right.

  
“Uh, Peach and Lime Daiquiri.”  
“Yes, sir.”  
His eyes scan the room, hoping to catch a distraction.

  
The speakeasy itself isn’t what he was expecting. Black drapes between booths where fellas are getting handsy with the dancers.

  
Who are also fellas.

  
Even the black lacquer bar looks nice with its gold bar lining it for man to get a better grip when he can’t stand straight anymore.

  
The room is smoky from cigars and cigarettes left and right, dimming the lighting even more for an intimate (or should he say intimidating?) setting.

  
The carpeted floor looks nice, a sort of Victorian design of black overlapping cream.

  
Hopefully cream colored carpet material.

  
Not other types of cream.

  
Fucking Hell, what is he doing here?

  
He’s just about to make tracks when his eyes catch on the distraction he wanted so bad.

  
Too bad it wasn’t the distraction he was ready for.

  
His knees went weak as he watched long, slender limbs move on the stage, alabaster skin practically glowing in what little light there was.  
His face is covered by a red sequin mask, brunette hair styled artfully into a soft curl as he sways in the black corset clinging tightly to his waist, holding a pair of gorgeous stockings up by thin little garters he’s sure would leave a pretty red mark on those creamy thighs if he snapped them just right...

  
Wait, no, no, no. Bad thoughts, Buck.

  
This guy is basically Steve with brown locks. Steve with brown locks, a corset, a boa, and hips that could hypnotize a fucking dame if he wanted.

  
The pip is doing a good show, putting his all into it.

  
He looks like he’s a bit short of breath, but that could be chalked up to the cold outside.

  
He thinks about it for a moment.

  
Paying this pretty boy for a private dance.

  
But then he feels the flames of shame burning hot in his belly and cheeks.  
This man looks like Steve to him.  
It’s not fair to him that he’d only be used as a substitute.  
His ma taught him to treat people better than this.  
Despite that, he watches till the end.

  
Watches till those gorgeous legs disappear behind a curtain and then leaves himself.

  
He feels nauseous.

  
God, how could he do this?

  
No one could replace Stevie.

  
Not even the dancer.

  
But would one night be so bad…?

  
Before he even realizes it, James Buchanan Barnes finds himself somewhere he definitely shouldn’t be after a shit-show like that.  
A fucking church.

  
Of all the places he could’ve absently walked to, he chooses the place he’ll probably burn to a crisp the moment he sets foot in it.  
…  
Fuck it.  
He’s going to do it.

  
Bucky walks the steps with lead in his feet, moving through the doors and into the confessional.

  
“Forgive me father, for I have sinned” he whispers mournfully.  
There’s a slide of wood, and he knows the priest has come.  
“Tell me your sin, my son.”  
“Lust, Father.”  
“A terrible sin, indeed.”  
“I lust for a dear friend, but he can’t ever know it. So I went out lookin’ for someone that could rip this terrible feeling away from me; but Father, I found someone almost identical. I even thought about talkin’ to ‘em.”  
Silence answers him for a beat before the Father does.  
“My son, you must fight this lust for him. It is an unnatural love, not sanctioned by God. Fight it, and you will find peace.”  
“But if it’s so unnatural, why did God make me with these feelings?”  
“God made us all in his image. It is up to us how we portray it.”  
“…I understand, Father.”  
“Good. Ten Our Fathers, and ten Hail Mary’s. Amen.”  
“Amen.”

  
Bucky steps out feeling worse than he already did, trudging home with rocks in his stomach as he thinks to himself,  
“I ain’t never goin’ back to that joint again. It’s as simple as that.”

  
Nodding resolutely, he goes home with those words running through his skull like a mantra.

  
He’ll forget the pretty boy in red sequin and tight black lace.

  
He’ll forget about the speakeasy.

  
He’ll forget it ever happened.


End file.
